Dirk Strider (Ultimate) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uber_marionettist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
victory_road2021-05-04 05:47 am
uber_marionettist) wrote in victory_road2021-05-04 05:47 am
Entry tags:
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Who: Dirk Strider and... well, Jane in one case, Emet in the other. And, maybe you?
What: Just some early May shenanigans at Dirk's pad, aka his Gym
When: Early May
Where: The Dirk Strider Memorial Gym, aka Saffron City
Dirk's 'home' base looks an awful lot like his other rooms. Cluttered and busy, but weirdly barren of all but the most basic furniture items, as determined by Dirk specifically--a categorisation that tends to prioritise turntables, drawing surfaces, and planks of wood set across stacks of cinderblocks over such basic essentials as 'a table that one might feasibly eat at' or 'a bed frame.' There is a couch, at least, only slightly occupied by works-in-progress, which exists entirely for the benefit of Emet and Hythlodaeus, although it theoretically might host the backsides of such esteemed company as Jane Crocker, or even Dave.
At the moment it's even more of a mess than usual, though. The floor is absolutely fucking covered in cardboard boxes and plastic tubs containing a variety of objects, such as rocks or sand or partially-inflated latex balloons. There's two different kinds of mic in the midst of it, with wires tracing back to his computer workstation.
Because of this, nearly the only Pokemon out are those that float. Fermat, Cola, and Yoto Muramasa, in other words. Bay Breeze is the exception: she lies curled in her basket at the 'head' of Dirk's expensive but terminally floor-bound mattress, her own head resting comfortably on the hardbound copy of the Epilogues.
He's seated on the floor in front of the couch, waving one hand with illustrative grandiosity as the conversation spirals from the "Moms Against Dirk" who want his Gym torn down for safety reasons to a takedown of the legitimacy of the Münchhausen trilemma.
What will you do?
What: Just some early May shenanigans at Dirk's pad, aka his Gym
When: Early May
Where: The Dirk Strider Memorial Gym, aka Saffron City
Dirk's 'home' base looks an awful lot like his other rooms. Cluttered and busy, but weirdly barren of all but the most basic furniture items, as determined by Dirk specifically--a categorisation that tends to prioritise turntables, drawing surfaces, and planks of wood set across stacks of cinderblocks over such basic essentials as 'a table that one might feasibly eat at' or 'a bed frame.' There is a couch, at least, only slightly occupied by works-in-progress, which exists entirely for the benefit of Emet and Hythlodaeus, although it theoretically might host the backsides of such esteemed company as Jane Crocker, or even Dave.
At the moment it's even more of a mess than usual, though. The floor is absolutely fucking covered in cardboard boxes and plastic tubs containing a variety of objects, such as rocks or sand or partially-inflated latex balloons. There's two different kinds of mic in the midst of it, with wires tracing back to his computer workstation.
Because of this, nearly the only Pokemon out are those that float. Fermat, Cola, and Yoto Muramasa, in other words. Bay Breeze is the exception: she lies curled in her basket at the 'head' of Dirk's expensive but terminally floor-bound mattress, her own head resting comfortably on the hardbound copy of the Epilogues.
He's seated on the floor in front of the couch, waving one hand with illustrative grandiosity as the conversation spirals from the "Moms Against Dirk" who want his Gym torn down for safety reasons to a takedown of the legitimacy of the Münchhausen trilemma.
What will you do?
no subject
He has luggage this time, though he doesn't directly call attention to it as he steps carefully over to the fridge to restock it. He manages to make his way over to Dirk, his smug grin growing as he reaches behind his ear to produce a Love Ball.
"I've brought you a new friend."
no subject
He watches Hythlodaeus load his fridge up in silence, wearing an impassive mien that conceals the somewhat awkward flutter of conflicted emotion--consternation, partially, at how consistently Hythlodaeus does this, pre-mixing Dirk's preferred breakfast concoctions and stocking him with individually labelled bottles, but never really saying anything about it. It feels illicit, somehow.
The silence can be a bit tense, though. He's almost (almost) relieved that Hythlodaeus gives him something else to focus on.
"A new friend," he parrots back, deadpan, after a beat of confusion.
no subject
He carefully moves to take a seat on the designated surface to watch as it blinks up at him with that bright pink heart between its eyes.
He stretches out as much as he can, shirt straining against his pectorals.
no subject
"No offence."
Oh, Jesus. He catches sight of Hythlodaeus stretching, and it's one of those sights that he can't quite uncatch, not right away. Hythlodaeus' proportions often make him look a lot more wiry than he really is; his Amaurotine taste for wizard robes reinforces the illusion. This the explicit opposite of that.
It's gives the corny line Hythlodaeus led with a run for its money, even if it can't eclipse it.
"Jesus. Put some clothes on."
no subject
"That isn't what you usually say to me. But if this is too scandalous for you, I can change back."
Though he has to take the shirt he's shrink wrapped himself into first. And he does have to cross his arms to grab the hem and lift and peel it off, shimmying carefully to not bust a seam. He lays the shirt over the back of the couch and unzips the luggage just enough to plunge a hand in and retrieve a much more modestly cut shirt. Really, the drape is more bag-like than shirt-like, but is Dirk going to complain?
"The dragon is just a playmate for Kermit. I see you have your hands quite full as it is. And to that I have the real surprise- I just managed to finish killing the rest of the mildew on this last night."
He begins pulling a corner of the faux fur through the hole like the world's worst kleenex.
"I found it in a garage sale from a neighboring property. They didn't even know they had it really, they thought it was a roll of carpeting. It has a few mysterious stains, but that shouldn't be a problem."
no subject
Dirk is stopped by his surprise when Pokemon in his lap to takes exception to the tapping--he watches as it leaps away, waiting until he knows what it's going for before he answers Hythlodaeus. Just to make sure it's not going to try and eat his Amaurotine puppet, for example. But Bay Breeze is already on it, trotting out to intercept the little dragon for a good once-over, and Dirk is allowed to relax on that front... for now.
Hythlodaeus has already changed shirts by that point, though. Dirk sighs, his head falling back against the couch seat.
"Kermit's been put away because he made himself sick eating gravel. But why the fuck not, I guess this is just his Piggy--wait, what mildew? What are you--is that what I think it is?"
no subject
He unzips the suitcase like he means it, pulling more and more faux fur from the depths and pooling it into Dirk's arms for closer inspection.
"Vintage toy animal fur. Enough of it to actually make the whole thing."
no subject
He pauses, running the material over his calloused (and gloved) hands.
"....I wasn't expecting this to be soft."
Flipping it over, he studies the backing, then flips it over again, to run his fingers through it in a more focused way.
Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curls upward, taking on the character of a lopsided (and somewhat wicked) smirk.
"Jackpot."
no subject
He smiles placidly as he watches Dirk's movements and his study of the material. Like he's gotten one up on the world. It's charming, to say the least.
"Shall I don the padding? Or have you other tasks in mind?"
no subject
Dirk is already getting his ass up off the floor, not actually tripping on his way across the minefield of assorted buckets and boxes, the yard or so of fabric Hythlodaeus had already deposited on him still in his arms.
cw mild nudity
He sheds his shirt and pants, handing the bundle to Fermat as he scans the treacherous landscape for the padding.
He figures that it shouldn't be too hard to find with how absolutely enormous it is compared to other things. And finds it he does. It's a little bit of a funny object, he thinks. It was necessary for him to tailor the suit by his sheer size, which did allow him to make some customizations to it. A zippered fly, for one. Though he found placing the zipper in the back to cause an enjoyable little interaction.
With less dexterity afforded by the bulky padding around his legs, he at least manages to avoid stepping into gravel bare-footed as he sits back onto the couch.
"My zipper, when you find your arms free, if you please."
no subject
He bundles the fabric up around his arms while Hythlo makes his way back, slipping the double-fold onto the couch just in time.
"You just had to put the zipper where you couldn't reach it." His gripe begins before he even turns around, and then he's faced with the broad plane of Hythlodaeus' bared back--immediately justifying his complaints. His composure suffers second of hesitation while he tries to figure out where to put his hands; he settles for resting his right hand on Hythlodaeus' shoulder in order to zip him in.
cw sexually suggestive
"I know. 'Tis a shame, but what can I do? We've already come this far. If only I could reach it," said the man who could probably bend forward while standing and just about kiss his own ass.
"At least I can manage my own front zipper... Well, I might not with the paws. But I can count on you for that as well, surely."
no subject
"I know you do this on purpose."
Whatever, it's zipped, and he steps back.
no subject
He turns and shrugs lightly.
"I do many things on purpose. It remains to be seen if you will tire of it in any meaningful way. Where would you like to start?"
no subject
Dirk's tolerance for the suggested image of him diapering a grown man's ass is set at a hard zero, even for the sake of a joke.
"Now stand up, I need to visualise this."
no subject
This would be a nightmare. Both men knew this, and Dirk should know full well that invitation into this room would allow him to never leave, merely be drawn deeper into the house.
He stands at last, carefully swinging his padded legs about the obstacles until he was far enough away to be seen in his entirety. He stands still and straight with his arms lifted slightly away from his body. Ah yes, the modern T-pose in all its glory.
no subject
Dirk makes a sound with his mouth that can only be described as 'anime,' with all the judgmental baggage that entails. But he's already shifting his focus, dropping the former subject as the dead weight it is while he picks up the end of the fur roll and watches Hythlodaeus move (in somewhat ungainly fashion, but appropriately so), projects the image of his intended character, glancing down at the fur occasionally to correct his visual, measuring the possible execution versus his concept.
This lasts maybe two or three minutes, at which point he turns and jogs over to his desk, releasing Willy from his Pokeball for a quick once-over before he starts... well, scribbling is probably an unkind way to describe it. Willy, for his part, sits down right there on the desk to watch.
Hythlodaeus is left completely unattended.
no subject
Hythlodaeus eventually looks at Fermat, considering the level of unwearbility of those clothes foe the foreseeable future. He allows his attention to wander to the shibari tied smuppets on the ceiling. He smiles, remembering their little vacation in the woods.
"I must ask. Once your handiwork is complete, shall we give it a test run in the wooded area by my ranch? I finally got around to disarming all of the traps. Well, the snares at least."
no subject
Or Hythlodaeus could just throw them in the wash first. Then he'd just have a couple of holes the size of one of Dirk's fingers. It's fine.
Dirk's pencil stops scratching very quickly into Hythlodaeus' second sentence, though.
".... we'd have to sweep the area for Hikers in pit traps first."
no subject
"...Only if they ignored the posted signs and avoided the trip wires. Which while inadvisable is certainly possible..."
no subject
Dirk taps the end of his pencil on the page absently. It is perhaps revealing that the reason he hasn't stopped Fermat is twofold: one, he doesn't really think about other people's problems enough to consider it an issue. Two, any possibility he might think about it is reduced by the fact that worst case scenario, he'd figure Hythlodaeus can just wear half his bedsheets home.
"--put a pin in that for a second."
There's a half beat before he interrupts his own called pause, adding, "We are coming back to it." There's a firmly emphatic quality to that part. Then he points his pencil at his Carnivine.
"Fermat, I need the duct tape and towels."
Without missing a beat (or relinquishing Hythlodaeus' clothes) Fermat turns, literally rotating on the spot until he's facing the right way before directing his float forward, over the heads of Bay Breeze and the newly-dubbed Piggy. It's almost a shame neither man witnessing this has ever seen an episode of The Jeston's.
Fermat's destination is a pile of smuppets by Dirk's bed; sweeping the top half-dozen plush rumps away with his leaves, he hangs his dangling roots over the mound before they lengthen and descend, disappearing into colourful doll pile... and rising again, now clutching tight a half-dozen rolls of duct tape and a bulk pack of paper towels.
It is pretty much exactly like watching a claw machine.
He begins to rotate as Dirk gets up from his desk, handing his pencil to Willy before he and Fermat both head for Hythlodaeus.
They converge on him at almost exactly the same time.
The pencil is gone, though. Willy ate it.